


Paulo is Neymar’s angel

by anonymousorly



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Canon Compliant, Coffee Shops, France (Country), M/M, Neybala, Secret Relationship, Wingfic, ish, neymar eats out paulo, paulo has wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2019-02-08 05:01:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12857289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonymousorly/pseuds/anonymousorly
Summary: “Still an angel,” Neymar praises, palms sliding across the shimmering golden branches, and Paulo whimpers, feels the hot breath on his lower back. “My angel.”After accidentally discovering Paulo’s wings, Neymar hasn't been able to stop thinking about him.





	Paulo is Neymar’s angel

A tiny bell ringing above the door of an off-street café announces Paulo’s arrival to the only two people inside: a middle-aged woman behind the counter and a beaming Neymar at one of the two tables. The men eliminate space while the closing door hits the bell again, both pairs simultaneously latching in their rightful place.

Paulo presses his lips and cold nose against Neymar’s warm neck, eyes drifting down to the steaming canister. “You're brilliant.”

Neymar’s large palms are gentle, pushing on the two bumps mounted atop Paulo’s shoulder blades that are inconspicuous under the coat.

The woman grins, locks up shop and flips over the open sign, then soundlessly exits out the back to allow her guests privacy. Neymar had requested she close operations for the day and, to cover lost revenue and buy her secrecy, persuaded her with a substantial amount nearing a month's worth of sales; an offer she couldn't refuse.

The Chambéry café is a halfway point for them not in distance but travel time, Paulo’s train route having thrice as many stops plus a border check. First departures dropped them both at the station mid-morning and last departures separated them in the evening, the whole day theirs for the taking.

Coats draped behind their chairs, they sit closely with knuckles touching from around their mugs and Paulo’s knees comfortably settled between Neymar’s. Long gulps and small sips break the unfamiliar yet welcome silence, more than content in the state of simply _being_ and being together. Gentle curled smiles outshine evident tiredness and tainted dark circles as gleaming eyes eagerly scan one another, absorbing what had been absent.

Pouring their fourth serving, Neymar guesses by the pot’s weight that there's about half left. “Easy trip?”

“Uneventful, yeah.” Paulo watches Neymar make his coffee for him, a quick dash of milk from the saucer and two sugar packets. “Yours?”

Neymar hums and slides the mug back. “The attendant wouldn't stop talking to me, then kept walking through the car after scanning my ticket and staring…”

“Flattering.”

He stirs milk in his own cup and rolls his eyes, sucking the teaspoon of excess drops that would get on the table otherwise. Paulo gapes at him, focused intently on his mouth, and it churns an arousal deep in his chest.

A soft blush trickles over Paulo’s cheeks when Neymar leans toward him, chins bumping and breaths mixing. His lashes flutter in a struggle to remain open and not conceal himself from viewing this moment, from Neymar so close and the café huddled around them like a secure dome. Hands unbutton his cardigan then go on his shoulders, slipping the sweater off, and he whispers Neymar’s name not in question or rejection but encouragement.

The only way Paulo could describe his feathered wings fanning out, free from their strained fold, is a breath of fresh air and big morning stretch. They had suffocated against the cotton and stiffened after forced restriction for too long, a throbbing ache that immediately starts to dissolve. He gives them a firm flap, gust strong enough to ring the bell above the door and play the hanging chimes near the counter, and sighs contently. The wings aren't the longest span, tips extending just passed his elbows, or tallest height, measuring from the top of his head to the bottom of his spine, but athleticism strengthens his muscles for him to produce a solid wind.

He and Neymar had waited a half-pot of coffee’s worth just in case the woman came back for any reason (forgotten scarf or tabloid traitor), every part of their secret too risky and costly in every imaginable sense. Homosexual taboo, inhuman physical element, celebrity status, public careers, endorsement contracts, club affiliation…status quo. The two aren't normal to anyone except each other and exposing that in public made it all the more erotic.

Neymar's grinning at him, eyes shining and face actually glowing, then reaches out to run his fingertips down the silver edges. Paulo relaxes more, exhales again, and Neymar confesses, “I haven't stopped thinking about you,” which makes the platinum blond wings slowly flutter. 

Paulo barely finishes replying, “I haven't either,” when Neymar kisses him deeply, and he means it, desperate for physical contact.

His hidden attribute had been discovered by Neymar on accident during the U.S. friendly months prior. Embracing post-match, Neymar felt the strange texture of indents and dipped under the collar curiously. Humidity and sweat matted the barbules and fused his jersey to the shafts, accentuating the normally unnoticeable bumps.

Paulo became horrified, Neymar became thrilled and murmured, “You _would_ have wings, wouldn't you, angel?” He spent that night examining Paulo beyond his wings, and he can't wait to do it again.

“Twirl for me,” Neymar commands once Paulo’s on his feet and undressed, “slowly.”

And he does, on complete display for only Neymar inside this random coffeehouse. Before Neymar, he didn't have much sex because his wings needed to be kept secret and the little he did have required a shirt, no lights, and absolutely no roaming hands allowed on his body; some of the least sexy ingredients imaginable. Now, standing here naked in midday and Neymar’s hands stopping his spin when he's turned around, it's the 180 reversal that he never gave up dreaming about.

Neymar softly traces down his spine, admiring his backside and it's overwhelmingly beautiful – exactly like he remembers. Paulo’s muscles flex and relax, lazily moving his wings, and Neymar bites his lower lip hard to control himself from tackling the man and just fucking him on the damn hardwood.

“Still an angel,” he praises, palms sliding across the shimmering golden branches, and Paulo whimpers, feeling Neymar’s breath on his lower back. “My angel.”

Neymar licks between his ass cheeks and Paulo trembles, legs shaky and cock erect. He isn't one to finger himself as foreplay before getting off alone, time of the essence and privacy limited when traveling with nearly 50 team members and sharing rooms with up to 5, so the soft, wet pressure feels particularly good. As much as he wants to, he refuses to touch himself and release inside his hand like he does when he's alone and that's the only choice he has. No, now, he's not alone and that's not the only choice.

Neymar’s tongue disappears inside him and Paulo cries out, head clouding to a point that he forgets he's standing and his knees buckle, but Neymar quickly grabs and pulls his wings before he bends too far. The sensation is comparable to hair pulling, sparks of initial pain morphing into waves of tingly pleasure, though the wings being so close to his spine magnifies the sparks and waves that electrify throughout his body. It takes more willpower to not touch himself.

He straddles Neymar’s lap, feet planted on the floor and red knuckles firm around the back of the chair, and ass lined up with his hard cock. He lowers himself carefully, mindful to how his lubricated tightness adjusts little by little, then releases a long exhale once completely sat and muscles loose. He jerks his hips forward and brushes his prostate, the tip of his own cock grazing Neymar's stomach and they gasp at the same time.

Hours pass too fast from too much caffeine and adrenaline. Neymar’s train departs first and lone Paulo sits on a bench on the far side of the platform, almost unrecognizable under the dusk and through the dirty window Neymar stares out of. He doesn't like that he's leaving Paulo by himself…leaving Paulo behind in return to _reality_ , as though the day hadn't been. Paulo looks so normal, coat zipped to his neck and phone at the ready to kill time, and he replays how different Paulo’s “normal” is.

Fingertips peek out of a handcuff as Paulo lifts a wrist to wave, conductor blowing the horn and wheels slowly gaining speed. Neymar smiles, uncertain if Paulo can see it but only for a moment because Paulo immediately smiles back and wiggles his fingers.

He doesn't know if the tension in his chest, after the view transitions into trees and cattle and he can no longer see Paulo, is one of happiness or emptiness.


End file.
